Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Another poem CC likes

Sex without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make lovewithout love? Beautiful as dancers,gliding over each other like ice-skatersover the ice, fingers hookedinside each other's bodies, facesred as steak, wine, wet as thechildren at birth whose mothers are going togive them away. How do they come to thecome to the come to the God come to thestill waters, and not lovethe one who came there with them, lightrising slowly as steam off their joinedskin? These are the true religious,the purists, the pros, the ones who will notaccept a false Messiah, love thepriest instead of the God. They do notmistake the lover for their own pleasure,they are like great runners: they know they are alonewith the road surface, the cold, the wind,the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-vascular health--just factors, like the partnerin the bed, and not the truth, which is thesingle body alone in the universeagainst its own best time.